“The End of the World as We Know It” - A reflection on Mark 13:24-32
Today’s passage from Mark 13 is filled with striking images: the sun darkened, the moon dimmed, stars falling, and the heavens shaking. In our modern minds, these words might conjure scenes of destruction, chaos, or fear. But as we explore this passage, I want us to consider it not as a prophecy of doom, but as a message of hope, resilience, and readiness—something far more empowering than we may realize at first glance.
To truly understand this passage, we must first step back to consider the world in which Mark was writing. The Gospel of Mark was composed around the year 70 AD, during one of the darkest periods of Jewish history. Jerusalem was in turmoil. The Roman Empire, whose power loomed over every aspect of life, had just brutally crushed a Jewish uprising with relentless violence.
Josephus describes how the Romans encircled the city of Jerusalem cutting off all supplies in order to starve the population into submission. Josephus recounts scenes of extreme desperation, with people resorting to eating anything they could find. Roman soldiers are also described as showing little mercy to the Jewish people. As they breached the city, they went on a rampage, killing indiscriminately. Josephus also describes how thousands of captured Jews were crucified outside the city walls as a display of Roman power and as a warning to anyone who might contemplate further rebellion.
In the process of this siege of Jerusalem, and the crushing of the rebellion, the Temple—the very centre of Jewish worship and identity—was destroyed, leaving the people devastated and disoriented. For many Jews, the destruction of the Temple was tantamount to the end of their world. The end of the world as they knew it.
And in the midst of this, Mark’s Gospel was written for fledgling a Christian community trying to make sense of their place in a world that seemed to be collapsing around them. The imagery of cosmic upheaval—the darkening sun, falling stars—echoes this collective experience of upheaval, uncertainty, and loss. And yet, Mark’s intention was not to add to the fear of his audience. Instead, he offered words of encouragement, solidarity, and even a sense of divine purpose amid the chaos.
Ched Myers, a theologian who has explored deeply the social-political context of Mark’s Gospel, suggests that this apocalyptic language doesn’t point to literal events. Rather, like all the ancient Jewish apocalyptic writing of that period, Mark’s Gospel uses symbolic language to depict the downfall of oppressive systems and regimes. When Mark speaks of the sun darkening and stars falling, he is referring not to the literal end of the world as most fundamentalist evangelicals would read it. Rather, Mark is referring symbolically to the collapse of earthly powers that seem unshakable—empires like Rome that dominate and dehumanize others.
For Ched Myers, this passage is a call to resist oppression. Just as ancient Israel longed for freedom from Egypt, Jesus’ followers now longed for liberation from Rome. Jesus’ words here would have resonated as a message of hope: the empire’s power is not eternal. Its grip on God’s people will one day come to an end, and a new order—one built on justice and compassion—will emerge.
Jesus gives his followers a simple image to hold onto—a fig tree sprouting new leaves, signalling that summer is near. This is a reminder to be vigilant and attentive to the times. Just as we can read the signs of the seasons, we can also recognize the movements of justice in the world. It’s a message of active waiting, a call to discern where God’s Kingdom might be breaking through, even in times of turmoil.
In our world, we may look around and see reasons to despair. We might feel as if darkness is settling, not just over the sun, but over the very heart of our societies—through wars, inequality, environmental crises, and divisions that wound our communities. But Jesus’ words remind us to keep looking, to keep hoping, and to see the signs of new life and new possibility emerging, even in the midst of crisis.
As Myers points out, Jesus’ promise in this passage isn’t just about individual survival or escape. When he speaks of gathering “the elect,” he envisions a new community, united not by fear but by a shared hope in the ultimacy of Divine justice. This gathering of the so-called ‘elect’ is an invitation to become a new kind of people, living out God’s values of compassion, mercy, and resilience in a world that often lacks them.
We, too, are invited into this community of hope. As followers of Jesus, we are called to form a different kind of kingdom—not one ruled by power or wealth, but rather by love and service. We are called to bear witness to a better way, even if it seems at odds with the world around us.
At the end of the passage, Jesus reminds us that no one knows the exact timing of these events—not the angels, not even the Son. This statement has often been taken as a caution against obsessing over predictions of the end times, but it is in fact more than that. It’s an invitation to live as if the Kingdom is always near, to embody its values in every moment.
The writer of Mark’s Gospel doesn’t wish us to live in fear, scanning the skies for signs of disaster. Instead, he calls us to live faithfully, in the present, bringing the Kingdom to life through our actions, words, and choices. We don’t know the timing of God’s renewal, but we do know our role within it—to live as God’s agents of peace and justice, creating glimpses of the Kingdom here and now.
Today’s passage from Mark 13 is filled with striking images: the sun darkened, the moon dimmed, stars falling, and the heavens shaking. In our modern minds, these words might conjure scenes of destruction, chaos, or fear. But as we explore this passage, I want us to consider it not as a prophecy of doom, but as a message of hope, resilience, and readiness—something far more empowering than we may realize at first glance.
To truly understand this passage, we must first step back to consider the world in which Mark was writing. The Gospel of Mark was composed around the year 70 AD, during one of the darkest periods of Jewish history. Jerusalem was in turmoil. The Roman Empire, whose power loomed over every aspect of life, had just brutally crushed a Jewish uprising with relentless violence.
Josephus describes how the Romans encircled the city of Jerusalem cutting off all supplies in order to starve the population into submission. Josephus recounts scenes of extreme desperation, with people resorting to eating anything they could find. Roman soldiers are also described as showing little mercy to the Jewish people. As they breached the city, they went on a rampage, killing indiscriminately. Josephus also describes how thousands of captured Jews were crucified outside the city walls as a display of Roman power and as a warning to anyone who might contemplate further rebellion.
In the process of this siege of Jerusalem, and the crushing of the rebellion, the Temple—the very centre of Jewish worship and identity—was destroyed, leaving the people devastated and disoriented. For many Jews, the destruction of the Temple was tantamount to the end of their world. The end of the world as they knew it.
And in the midst of this, Mark’s Gospel was written for fledgling a Christian community trying to make sense of their place in a world that seemed to be collapsing around them. The imagery of cosmic upheaval—the darkening sun, falling stars—echoes this collective experience of upheaval, uncertainty, and loss. And yet, Mark’s intention was not to add to the fear of his audience. Instead, he offered words of encouragement, solidarity, and even a sense of divine purpose amid the chaos.
Ched Myers, a theologian who has explored deeply the social-political context of Mark’s Gospel, suggests that this apocalyptic language doesn’t point to literal events. Rather, like all the ancient Jewish apocalyptic writing of that period, Mark’s Gospel uses symbolic language to depict the downfall of oppressive systems and regimes. When Mark speaks of the sun darkening and stars falling, he is referring not to the literal end of the world as most fundamentalist evangelicals would read it. Rather, Mark is referring symbolically to the collapse of earthly powers that seem unshakable—empires like Rome that dominate and dehumanize others.
For Ched Myers, this passage is a call to resist oppression. Just as ancient Israel longed for freedom from Egypt, Jesus’ followers now longed for liberation from Rome. Jesus’ words here would have resonated as a message of hope: the empire’s power is not eternal. Its grip on God’s people will one day come to an end, and a new order—one built on justice and compassion—will emerge.
Jesus gives his followers a simple image to hold onto—a fig tree sprouting new leaves, signalling that summer is near. This is a reminder to be vigilant and attentive to the times. Just as we can read the signs of the seasons, we can also recognize the movements of justice in the world. It’s a message of active waiting, a call to discern where God’s Kingdom might be breaking through, even in times of turmoil.
In our world, we may look around and see reasons to despair. We might feel as if darkness is settling, not just over the sun, but over the very heart of our societies—through wars, inequality, environmental crises, and divisions that wound our communities. But Jesus’ words remind us to keep looking, to keep hoping, and to see the signs of new life and new possibility emerging, even in the midst of crisis.
As Myers points out, Jesus’ promise in this passage isn’t just about individual survival or escape. When he speaks of gathering “the elect,” he envisions a new community, united not by fear but by a shared hope in the ultimacy of Divine justice. This gathering of the so-called ‘elect’ is an invitation to become a new kind of people, living out God’s values of compassion, mercy, and resilience in a world that often lacks them.
We, too, are invited into this community of hope. As followers of Jesus, we are called to form a different kind of kingdom—not one ruled by power or wealth, but rather by love and service. We are called to bear witness to a better way, even if it seems at odds with the world around us.
At the end of the passage, Jesus reminds us that no one knows the exact timing of these events—not the angels, not even the Son. This statement has often been taken as a caution against obsessing over predictions of the end times, but it is in fact more than that. It’s an invitation to live as if the Kingdom is always near, to embody its values in every moment.
The writer of Mark’s Gospel doesn’t wish us to live in fear, scanning the skies for signs of disaster. Instead, he calls us to live faithfully, in the present, bringing the Kingdom to life through our actions, words, and choices. We don’t know the timing of God’s renewal, but we do know our role within it—to live as God’s agents of peace and justice, creating glimpses of the Kingdom here and now.
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